


FOR YOU IN SILENCE

by sofiponzio



Category: Call Me By Your Name (2017), Call Me by Your Name - André Aciman
Genre: Call me by your name, LGBT, Love, Oliver - Freeform, Romance, Summer, Teenager, Youth, andre aciman, elio - Freeform, elio and oliver, oliver and elio
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-18
Updated: 2017-12-18
Packaged: 2019-02-16 11:32:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,833
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13053156
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sofiponzio/pseuds/sofiponzio





	FOR YOU IN SILENCE

After Rome I didn't want to exist in another world, I didn't want to feel anything other than the air of the alleys that witnessed our last flashes of happiness. I could still feel him in my body, it was everywhere, his smell still wandered through my nose. His voice whispering "Think of me, not someday but every day " if he only knew that it's the only thing on which my mind can concentrate. He had taken the words from that postcard and turned them into his words, I know he would look at it from time to time, the image of Monet's berm facing him and with it, the memories we left there. And I know that I will return frequently to revive us, running until we surrender on the grass.

Mafalda knocked on my door several times, I could even tell she was standing outside for long seconds before leaving. My best excuse was to pretend I was sleeping, the naps were my escape, not only from Oliver but from myself, I feel that I no longer have any reason to stay awake. Suddenly the night fell as if the day had lasted only a few hours, I could hear the voices of the guests echoing in the entrance of the house, and the serene voice of my father inviting them in.

He shouted my name, my hair was still wet after taken a shower and the breeze that came through my window made me want to fly, far away, I can't say with certainty where.

I went down the stairs where the wood creaked with every step I took and the marble of the walls cooled my restless fingers, the colleagues were already sitting at the table, drinking Mafalda's specialty for tonight. They were discussing some passages from the Inferno, although I refused to pay attention. I swallowed the food as fast as someone who hasn't eaten in years. Before dessert I was ready to sneak through the wild laughter that stunned me and wouldn't let me think clearly.

"I was going to head into town" I raised my voice from the kitchen, avoiding any eye contact between the guests or my father.

I could hear him hesitate for a moment, perhaps I just wanted him to say "no" ... Someday I would have to get used to the rough and dry "no" and put aside the doubts that came with a "maybe". I was tired of doubts, of indifference, of the fear of not knowing what will happen tomorrow, with the world, with me.

After a pause he agreed, warning me that soon it was going to rain, that the weather at this time of the year was not the most appropriate, that I was probably going to get some cold. But after all, he agreed. My mother intervened as always, saying that I should go and have fun, that I should go and be young, youth is fleeting, it disappears in the blink of an eye.

I ran into my room, I looked for the wrinkled letter that lay on my desk and I put it in my pocket, after so many attempts, I've always ended up going back to the first version, where my words seemed more spontaneous, they flowed with more subtlety.

The clouds were gray, they stood out against the black of infinity, I waited about five minutes, then took my bike and even though a few drops of rain began to caress my face, headed out by the piazzeta.

The town was quieter than usual, I could only see some tourists hanging around looking for somewhere to rest, and the owner of the bookstore was almost ready to close, smoking a cigarette by the window and greeting me, waving his hand from afar. I raised my hand imitating him, and smiled vaguely.

I went to the nearest letterbox, looking around as if someone or something was chasing me, and I slid the envelope almost in slow motion, removing my fingers one by one from the rough paper. 

"He was not allowing me to forget him" I thought, everything seemed more muted, empty, the glow of summer had gone along with him, and I was just trying to put the pieces together to feel comfortable in my own skin again. This was the first year where I didn't wait for summer to end, on the other hand I expected the summer to last forever, and I'll wait you forever Oliver. Let's ride up from the house to town, from town to the berm, from the berm to the piazzetta, from the piazzetta to the memorial where the soldier who died on the Piave will keep all our secrets, all our unspoken words. Let's start all over again and I promise, there's no time to lose. 

The rain soon began to fall with more intensity, somehow I was washing my emotions, there were no traces of the tourists, nor of the owner of the bookstore, just me dragging my bicycle on the paved sidewalk. When I returned home the guests were just about to leave, they continued laughing loudly, praising the food made by Mafalda and dreaming of visiting us again. I nodded, and said goodbye as usual, retiring on the pretext that it was too late and I should sleep to catch up on my transcripts.

The noise of the rain hit the ceiling with an unbreakable force, I couldn't do anything but lie in my bed and look at some blind spot until I fell asleep, or watch again and again those movies that brought me back to my childhood just for a moment. I stayed for a while in the gloom of the night, listening to the noise of insects fluttering over me, I didn't want to enter my house, I didn't want to be alone in my room. Tonight my other self had emerged from the most recondite place in my mind, and all the things that were inside this house belonged to someone else. Someone that I refused to be. That night I fell asleep imagining his restless silhouette, still wandering out there. 

When I woke up the next day I felt dizzy, dimmed by the sun that came from my french windows which I never used to close. I jumped out of bed to get rid of the feeling of being stuck to her, and I put some shorts on, taking my transcripts with one hand and my guitar with the other. I could feel the smell of fresh coffee and the sound of boiling eggs colliding with each other from the pressure of the hot water.

My father reading his newspaper looked at me through it and stroked my head, ruffling my hair. He was always a faithful observer, especially when it comes to me, that although I try to put the highest barriers to hide, he always manages to understand me or at least he tries. He used to say "the eyes hide the truth of the world, the truth of the soul, and the truth that still needs to be discovered" For that reason his gaze was fixed on yours as sharp needles, but far from making you feel uncomfortable, it was just the opposite, like talking to yourself, a little wiser and more resistant to life.

After breakfast I went to "my table" in the back garden by the pool, the sound of the cicadas joined my melody as if they were a great orchestra and the morning breeze covered my body with tenderness. I was transcribing one of the Goldberg Variations, I have always wanted to work on them but I had never been encouraged to do so. It's funny how fear prevents me from enjoying the minimum things in my life. Sometimes I think I miss the old me, not that I was very different from what I am now, but at least I had the ability to notice the little things that surrounded me. Like when my grandfather, my namesake, was alive. He used to take me to an alley near B, the alley of yellow tulips. There is where, in summer, the flowers come back to life, I liked going there as a child, listening to my portable radio, and playing to guess the age of those tulips. I felt that they could possibly spoke to me, their roots moved with my touch. Over the years I stopped visiting the place often, with age, innocence was also gone, and without innocence, the ability to communicate with them disappeared. 

From a distance I looked at my house, the smell of Rosatello invaded my nose, and the sound of Mafalda's favorite jazz album flourished from the kitchen, my parents were the same, their voices sounded like always, full of joy, sincere, and every time they said my name I could not help feeling emptied, locked up in a cage from which nobody had the key. I went to the main garden, where the voices came from, surprisingly, there were only my parents, no guests, no relatives, just us. 

"Why don't you call Marzia?" my mother said, I wanted to tell her that I wasn't ready to be submitted to all the usual questions she usually asks, but I remained silent. Instead, I said I would go for a swim. 

The noise of the cicadas had disappeared and this time I could only hear the sound of my feet sinking in the grass, It was wet, warm. I had inherited Oliver's habit, of using different bathing suits according to my mood, today it was yellow: determined, I felt I could go anywhere, anytime, but at the same time aggressive, sensitive to words, cautious. 

I swam as if the pool were infinite, forcing my feet not to touch the bottom, I wanted to feel light as a feather or a paper flying with the wind. I looked at the sky, the sun clouded my eyes, I raised a hand and covered it with it. I opened it carefully and let small rays filter through my fingers. 

Suddenly I wished to be blind, because if I couldn't see him, then I rather see anything at all. He was my eyes, my ears, the last breath I took every morning before our usual walks along the beach. My whole spirit was surrounded by an awkard tenderness, I felt safe, strong, invincible. And he knew, of course he knew, from the beginning he had discovered me, he had seen through me. He told me once... "I like who you are when no one is around" just our shadows waiting for what will happen next. I can feel you in every cell of my body, in every word I speak, you made me, you built me with your own hands. Let me hold you one last time, at least to taste the bittersweet of you absence. 

The night began to fall, you could see that show of colors produced by the sunset, I had called Marzia earlier, we would see each other in Le Danzing, his voice sounded calm, mature, transparent, that somehow reassured me, after all she was my only friend. I asked Mafalda how many hours were left for dinner 

"Isn't it too early for dinner?" his voice sounded alarmed under the jazz melody that still echoed between the walls

I shrugged "Non lo so esattamente" I walked by his side and took an apple that was resting on top of the table, I started throwing it into the air, playing with it, the apple could suddenly become something else. 

My parents were watching TV when I walked out of the house, I couldn't wait for dinner, I knew it was going to be another dinner chased by Oliver's ghost, I knew it was going to end with my sanity. 

I walked slowly, touching everything around me as if I were seeing it for the first time, feeling at least a little more free. Soon my feet began to feel embraced by the softness of the sand, from afar I could see people dancing, drinking, laughing. I wanted to be them, I wanted to feel what they were feeling at that moment, instead of standing like a statue, pretending not to be the strangest person in the universe. I lit a cigarette and looked towards the ocean, wishing the tide would take me and make me part of it. I saw a girl whose dress seemed to float among the people, her red lips didn't stop smiling and her slender legs trembled to the rhythm of an annoying song. 

I remembered a phrase from The Odyssey, I began to recite it not only to cover the bustle of that horrible song, but to turn off my thoughts:

"These nights are endless, and a man can sleep through them, or he can enjoy listening to stories, and you have no need to go to bed before it is time. Too much sleep is only a bore. And of the others, any one whose heart and spirit urge him can go outside and sleep, and then, when the dawn shows, breakfast first, then go out to tend the swine of our master. But we two, sitting here in the shelter, eating and drinking, shall entertain each other remembering and retelling our sad sorrows."

Suddenly a voice joined mine, we sounded like a choir inside a church, serene, sunk under the same beat. It was Marzia, she was wearing a sweater and her hair had been stuck to her cheeks by the sweat of the bodies that danced around us. 

"You read the odyssey" I said, not as a question but, rather, as an affirmation.

"From beginning to end and from end to beginning"

"So you don't hide anymore" I tried to sound challenging but instead, I sounded resentful

"I haven't done it for a while" She walked away stretching my hand with her, leading us to the crowd.

I soon realized that everyone seemed to have progressed, Marzia had stopped hiding, me, on the other hand, I've decided to hide under different masks, I didn't know which of all I should use at the moment. 

We dance, we sing, we go back in time for a few seconds, the light and the sound of bustling nightlife fell above us, my mother's voice echoed in my ears "youth is fleeting" disappears in the blink of an eye, I thought out loud, she looked at me confused. 

After a while we decided to go back, we took the longest road through the crowded piazzeta, one street, then another, the houses were asleep, the people on the street instead were overflowing with energy. I looked at the mailbox that lay in the middle of the street, I saw myself standing there in the rain and a bitter taste invaded my mouth, Marzia looked over my shoulder, trying to solve the reason for my hypnotizing gaze. I looked at her and I felt naked, we walked so slow and we spoke without uttering a word, I liked it, I liked that she understood me. 

I made my way home after accompanying her to her garden, I promised to visit her more often. When I entered my house the silence was so strong that everything I touched seemed to make noise, I didn't care, the noise was my only company. When I got to my room something seemed out of place, my desk looked messy, my window was barely open. I turned on my night- light and there it was, stood out frankly, called me, whispered my name. I took the envelope delicately, its smell charmed me, it brought me back to life. 

"For you in silence" 

I couldn't hold my tears, I didn't want to do it either. 

"Somewhere in America in the mid-eighties"

Under the postcard, his signature, his soul, my soul, reunited once more, I knew that beyond the ocean there was someone thinking of me, caring for me, in silence, in the night, in the day, "I will see you again" I thought, thinking of his golden hair shining like the sun, of his hands buried in the sand, of his raucous words and his unexpected laughter when I told him about my strange vices, there is always going to be a place in my heart, for you, for both of us. In my bed, in your bed, under the stars of Italy or the lights of America, I will do anything for you. 

The tears wet the paper and my chest beat with ferocity, my whole body burned, passionately, with need, need of his hands. I went to the balcony, the cold contrasted with the heat of my skin, I no longer feared for tomorrow, I knew that soon I would be where I always belonged. My lungs were drowning "Oliver, Oliver, Oliver" my whisper faded in the darkness of the night, but I know that my voice traveled to him.


End file.
